Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them. – Sherlock

Archive for the ‘BS’ Category

Yes, I have been gone my friends. I was lured to the FB world of quick sound bites and cute animals, pithy empty saying, manipulations, assholery remarks. But I have also met up with a few old friends from blog days, made new friends, and seen things I would not have seen before.

I was also very busy and will be for some time. For once it is not all work related.

My biggest thing now is getting through Lent. Eating low carbs as if I were on a diabetic diet requires a type of mindset I am new to. But if I don’t do this now I will have to someday. Might as well head it off, make my changes and remain a healthy human being.

The last number of months have been geared towards learning that I can be a better human being. I keep thing at times “What in the HELL is wrong with me”. And that seems to be the sign I am succeeding. God know I have a lifetime of mistakes to unlearn.

Think of the post title as proof of life, showing that Lemur King lives.

Brother McGoo expressed concern that I might be dead or not-very-alive and I wanted to make sure that such fears were put to rest.

Labor Day weekend was beyond awesome – we spent the weekend with Cruel Wife’s sister, Material Girl and her husband, Lyrical Wrench. And we saw our many nieces (3x) and nephews (2x). I can honestly say it was the most relaxed I have been all year. They are awesome people. Ask Cruel Wife, I do not offer praise like that lightly.

It was marred only by the breakage of my big toe on my left foot. I got up from the couch, turned, and made my way to go upstairs.

Two rapid steps later I was flying across the room, seemingly about to do a face plant into a wall. My foot had stopped stone cold and my body continued onward.

I stubbed my toe hard enough to tear toenail, make my toe go numb, and render it useless for walking on and unable to bend. It is still that way four days later. I hate doctors so I am not decided on going to get it checked out or not. Still hurts like a mofo and it feels like walking on a shard of glass when I put pressure on it.

This morning Cruel Wife sent me the picture below. She said something to the effect “you probably think this is me most of the time”.

I would never say such a thing.

I would say this of a co-worker though. Asks my opinion and then continues to argue for what they wanted in the first place, and I cannot understand why they wouldn’t just go with that in the first place.

(subtitled: Stalling for Time)

I was waiting for a flight two nights ago, trapped in the decaying moments between slowed heartbeats. Time tides flowed sideways in irregular surges and only moved forward in regions of eddying currents.

Unexpectedly I got a call from a surprising source – nature.

It was one of those moments we all have had where pre-flight stress and a pepper jack fajita omelette collide with the grace of drunk hippos and your intestinal tract rebels against inaction.

In short, I needed a restroom, and I needed it RFN.

I tried the ages old Man Code usually reserved for selecting the proper urinal in order to locate a toilet stall but apparently multiple guys had also eaten pepper jack fajita omelettes earlier and the only other two empty stalls looked like they were crawling with Hepatitis A and unidentifiable parasites. So neither Door #1 or Door #5 looked preferable to internal rupture and sepsis.

Thus, flanked by two used stalls I picked Door #3 and stepped inside. Trou droppage and the usual maneuvering went without incident, as one would expect given my lifetime of practice in such things.

As I sat there, wondering why my internal organs were suddenly being coy after such a cry and hue only moments earlier, I noticed in the stall to my left what seemed to be a large-ish deep-voiced gentleman having a conversation on his cellphone.

This struck me as an extremely peculiar place in which to carry on a conversation, even as humorous and good-natured as it seemed from his tone of voice. It also seemed obvious that he had a lot of luggage, judging by the thudding sounds and the shuddering of the stall walls.

He was saying “(indistrict conversation) Huh… ha, ha, ha… Uh huh.”

The pre-flight pharmaceuticals (legally prescribed) that I had ingested on orders of my physician were kicking in so it took a moment for my brain to process amongst more thudding noises the man’s next words “Heh heh uhhhhh… That stuff burns my scrotum… (Long pause)… We gotta do this again some time.”

The cure for intestinal hesitation is not “scary clowns” as you would be led to believe in the movie Zombieland, but rather the knowledge that you need to vacate several places – (intestinal and environmental) immediately unless you want to have a very awkward post flagrante delicto encounter with an amorous couple of guys in the men’s room of the airport in Portlandia.

Most of the experience could be considered horrible enough but such events in Portlandia of all places made the situation nigh on unbearable.

There was a crap-ton of hand soap at the sinks but nothing suitable or powerful enough with which to sanitize my now feverish brain. I quickly opted for a second round of pharmaceuticals after returning to my safe bench seat outside of the flow of time, and I continued to wait for my flight with a sense of newfound graceful patience.

There, McGoo… My story did not actually invoke King’s short story “The Jaunt” but there was an element of irony to be found here… My hair is now whiter.

****
Before I left on vacation I was nervous that I had forgotten something that someone would need for a project’s completion. So a scientist suggested I put together a box which I named exactly as he said. In true Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K) fashion I gave it a ridiculous acronym.

Within minutes a note appeared next to it with a tiny box usually used for a 50 count of small fasteners.

It has been said that I have an ego.

And it was then also said that perhaps the box provided for my ego was actually several sizes too large.

I haven’t laughed tears like that in years.

“Arrogance must be earned. Tell me what you did to earn yours.” – House, M.D.

We’ll start with ugly. This what I think Hell must sound like. Real crazy people shrieking and destroying an abandoned factory as therapy.

Ugly but funny is this item sent to me by Laconic Pup…

Having a creeper not too long ago sneak into my house through an open door and blow up the center of my room – and every chest, furnace, and workbench – this one kind of hits home. Damn creepers.

Now, simply the bad. Portsmouth Sinfonia.

What is interesting is not the music, although it made me laugh like a loon. What is interesting is the brain can tell you every single wrong note, which argues for even music being stored as a series of metaphors.

The good. Hmmm.

I am really not sure what this thing is but it makes me smile and makes me uneasy at the same time.

My Personal “Things” – Don’t Peek

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